Numb
by HundredsofStories
Summary: Candid photographer Kyle Bishop stumbles upon Jimmy Collins in Central Park while he is writing a song.


A picture is worth a thousand words. That's what his father told him when he gave Kyle his first camera: a Polaroid instant photo camera that he had played with as a child. The first picture Kyle took with his new trinket was of a ladybug he found inching across the porch rail. It was drizzling that day and no matter how often Kyle wiped it off, the lens was covered in tiny drops of rain. He stood close to the rail, keeping a far enough distance so he wouldn't scare the bug and lose his chance at the perfect picture. Kyle crept closer to the ladybug, holding his camera so that it was parallel to the railing, and snapped the picture, darting across the porch and into the house so he could watch his photo develop away from the downpour.

And so he quit asking for a puppy or a Nintendo 64 for his birthday or when the holidays rolled around. Instead, Kyle asked his father for a new camera so he could remember where he came from and where he was going.

It looked like Central Park had been painted white by Ulla Long-Swedish-Last-Name from _The _Producers. The whole city smelled like snow and pine needles, a human Christmas tree. Winter in New York was Kyle's least favorite time of year, and not because every street was dripping with holiday spirit (Kyle had encountered that in every city he'd visited during the holidays). He simply hated how cold the city was. If only it was as warm as the summers he spent in New Jersey growing up, playing in the rain and listening to the hot concrete sizzle in the downpour. Unfortunately, NYC was plagued with polar temperatures and heaps of snow from November until whenever the world felt like heating up.

Kyle walked briskly through the park, bundled up in a warm winter coat, a coffee keeping his had warm, and his newest trinket hanging from his neck. His father shipped his present early since Kyle wasn't able to come home for Christmas and his last camera got run over by a taxi (don't ask). A slow but constant pour of snow fell onto the park and Kyle wished that he'd grabbed his umbrella before leaving the apartment. He made a mental note to remind Ana that it was her turn to cook dinner tonight before finishing off his coffee and turning his camera on.

One thing Kyle loved to do was wander around Central Park taking candid photos of people. When his parents told him that he sounded like a stalker, Kyle responded by snapping a photo of them and said, "That's not very candid of you." When he wasn't waiting tables at work or hanging out with Ana, Kyle would grab his camera and explore Central Park through a high powered lens.

The Strawberry Fields were practically empty as Kyle moseyed through the park. The most people he saw were tourists visiting the John Lennon memorial or people jogging down the sidewalk (Kyle never understood the point of jogging, especially while it was snowing), so Kyle wandered off to is favorite place in all of Central Park.

Most of the time it was used as a venue for weddings, but there was an old gazebo in the Strawberry Fields overlooking a crisp blue pond and sometimes—when the park wasn't drenched in snow—it made Kyle think back to the times he spent sitting on his porch watching the seasonal rainstorms roll through. Even in the chill of the city, the memories warmed him up like a crackling fire, and that was enough for him to withstand the near-freezing temperatures.

Finding the gazebo was easy since that part of the park wasn't very crowded, but what he found when he got there was odd. A man—probably in his early twenties with dark brown hair and a leather jacket keeping him warm—was sitting on the floor in the gazebo, his head propped up against the wall and a guitar resting on his lap. He seemed completely unaware of Kyle's presence as he strummed his guitar, humming a melody that Kyle believed he'd heard once before. His voice rang out, shattering the silence around him, singing out the words, "I refuse to go numb," and jotting them down on what Kyle assumed was a blank piece of sheet music. The man glanced over his shoulder at the (now frozen) pond behind him and grinned, repeating the words over and over again until they disappeared into the crisp, cool air like a wintry breath.

Kyle lifted the camera to his face. His fingers went numb against the plastic as he zoomed in on the man in the gazebo, flurries of snow captured in the shot as he pressed the button and let the camera fall against his chest.

"I've heard this song before," Kyle said. He was perched against the gazebo, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. The man glanced up from his music, a slight grin tugging at the sides of his mouth. He set his guitar on the ground and stood up, brushing himself off before extending a hand to Kyle.

"I work at a bar downtown," he said. His hand was rough and his grip was firm. Kyle felt his cheeks flush as they shook hands. "They let me play the piano sometimes. Brings in good tips."

"That lyric you sang, 'I refuse to go numb'..." Kyle grinned, glancing into the man's deep brown eyes. "It's a powerful line."

"Thanks." He grabbed his guitar and slung it over his shoulder. "Y'know, it's pretty cold out here. You wanna grab a cup of coffee?"

"That would be great," Kyle said. "My name is Kyle, by the way."

"Jimmy," the man said, sending chills down Kyle's spine. "Jimmy Collins."

And, as they walked through the snow and the pine, Kyle's fingers went numb against Jimmy's rough palms, blending together like a crackling fire.


End file.
